I had made a pipe a while back, and also some pretty fair tobacco; not the real thing, but what some of the Indians use: the inside bark of the willow, dried.
These comforts had been in the helmet, and now I had them again, but no matches.
Gradually, as the time wore along, one annoying fact was borne in upon my understanding--that we were weather-bound.

An armed novice cannot mount his horse without help and plenty of it.

Sandy was not enough; not enough for me, anyway.

We had to wait until somebody should come along.

Waiting, in silence, would have been agreeable enough, for I was full of matter for reflection, and wanted to give it a chance to work.